


You're such an instigator, you wanna play the game

by orphan_account



Category: Cricket RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-30
Updated: 2015-02-21
Packaged: 2018-03-03 11:59:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2850101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It starts because Jimmy is a terrible liar and Tim just isn't drunk enough to be babysitting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Tim Paine doesn’t often think about Shaun Marsh. Sure he’s played against the guy for his whole career and played _with_ him a handful of times. Sure most Australians with a passing knowledge of cricket know of Shaun Marsh. Son of an Australian cricketing great; buckets of wasted potential;  terrible work ethic; and a body that’s falling apart, at least if the media is to be believed (Tim has found over his career the media isn’t usually to be believed.). The guy is nice enough, if dim, but Tim doesn’t waste much thought on him.

He’s sure the feeling is mutual; Shaun probably doesn’t have the thoughts to spare.

At least he doesn’t give the guy much thought until Jimmy brings it up. 

Jimmy’s dumb boyfriend has fucked off without a word again, and leaving him to his own devices for a day is asking for trouble so Tim has taken one for the team and wasted an afternoon entertaining the kid with FIFA. Thrashing him in FIFA is a more accurate description.

Tim’s up 9-0 with a shot on goal in the 86th minute of the game when Jimmy blurts out “Shaun Marsh doesn’t want to fuck you.”

It’s a distraction tactic, plain, simple and not very subtle so Tim doesn’t bat and eyelash as he directs his player to shoot for goal. It’s a goal; of course it’s a goal, so whilst his gaming avatar dances like a chicken in celebration, he turns to glance at a sheepish looking Jimmy out of the corner of his eye, “You know if you’re going to make up scandalous statements to distract me you might want to try and come up with a more convincing one.” 

“I didn’t! It happened!” Jimmy protests vehemently as Tim continues the game, letting the last few seconds run out.

“So you _weren’t_ trying to save yourself the embarrassment of that?” Tim asks as the match finishes and the score flashes across the screen. Speaking of Marshes he should take a picture for Mitch, let him know he’s no longer the most hopeless player.

“Well, maybe,” Jimmy shrugs shamelessly. Tim can’t judge because distraction is a tactic he’s used to win a game or two; not many though because he can beat anyone through skill alone. “But I’m not making it up. He actually said it.”

“Of course he did,” Tim rolls his eyes in disbelief, getting up from his couch and heading for the kitchen, Jimmy trailing after him. If he’s not going to drop it then Tim is going to need a beer, or 12; he can feel it. “Just came up to you at the tea break yesterday for a chat  ‘Oh hey James nice batting yesterday, by the way I don’t want to fuck Tim. Have a nice day.’ did he?”

“Not exactly,” Jimmy frowns. Tim pulls three beers out the fridge. He’ll probably need to dig up some Panadol as well. “We went for drinks after the game,”

“This story keeps getting better and better, next you’ll tell me there was karaoke.” Tim pushes one of the beers across the island bench towards Jimmy. Shaun Marsh is pretty much legendary in cricketing circles for keeping to himself, the opposite of his brother. The only thing they seem to have in common, Tim thinks as he cracks open the first beer, is their penchants for overindulgence in alcohol.

“Well it’s not like it was just us,” Jimmy says defensively, knowing exactly what Tim’s thinking, “Some of the other WA guys were there for a bit.”

“So let me get this straight you went on a date with Shaun Marsh, and on this date he told you he doesn’t want to fuck me?” Tim is being deliberately obtuse as he takes a swig of his beer. “Does George know?" 

“I don’t know,” Jimmy shrugs, as if shame is an unfamiliar concept to him, “Haven’t seen him since end of the game yesterday.”

They’re both weird, Jimmy seems to have no problem with George disappearing for hours and days at a time. Tim has no desire to ask about it. “I know, that’s how I got stuck with you.” Tim shrugs carelessly, taking a swig from his beer bottle, “Someone has to keep an eye on you.”

Tim’s expecting some sort of melodrama from Jimmy. Instead he get an eye roll directed his way, “Stop changing the subject Tim, you’re not subtle." 

Now it’s Tim’s turn to roll his eyes. Again. One day, probably in Jimmy’s company, they’re going to fall right out of his head. “I’m changing the subject,” Tim explains as he picks up his beers and walks back to the living room, kicking one of Jimmy’s discarded shoes out of his way as he goes, “because this a non-issue.” 

“You said you could get anyone to sleep with you,” Jimmy trails after him, apparently unable to let anything drop. “But you clearly can’t, and ignoring me isn’t going to make the words less true.” 

Tim turns around to give Jim a long suffering look, “He’s _straight_ James, of course he doesn’t want to sleep with me.” Not that being ‘straight’ has stopped guys from sleeping with him in the past, but Tim’s pretty sure Shaun Marsh is not one of those guys.

“He’s not.” Jimmy insists. Tim puts his bottles on the table and stretches out along length the couch. Jimmy can sit on the floor for all he cares. 

“Right,” Tim cocks an eyebrow “And he outed himself to you after he spontaneously announced he didn’t want to fuck me.” The story was getting more and more outlandish. Maybe he shouldn’t be letting Jimmy drink. Ever again.

“No,” Jimmy shakes his head emphatically, deciding to perch on the coffee table instead of the floor. Tim has a perfectly serviceable arm chair that Jimmy refuses to sit in; he claims it’s haunted. “He outed himself _first_ which of course lead to conversations about gay cricketers and you.” 

“Naturally.” Tim says dryly. “And during this unprompted and frankly quite out of character confession, did he perhaps tell you why he was telling _you_ of all people this. Perhaps because of your legendary discretion?”

“I am a gay icon within the cricketing community.” Jimmy tells him as seriously as he can manage, which means biting back a smile for all of three seconds before he’s grinning at his own weird sense of humour. He then pauses, and taps his chin, “I also think he was really, really plastered.”

“When is Shaun Marsh not plastered?” Tim asks, stretching his body out comfortably, glad he doesn’t have to spend today crouched behind the stumps. Games that are won a day early are always a good thing in his books. “Because if he outed himself as gay every time he drank, the whole world would have found out ten years ago." 

Jimmy frowns at him, as if he hasn’t made dumber and meaner comments in the last three hours. “It happened! I’m sure it happened!” Jimmy insists.

“I’m sure it did.” Tim tells him. He’s one hundred percent sure it didn’t. “Were you hammered as well?” Tim reaches over and plucks the beer out of Jimmy’s hand to emphasise his point.

“No,” Jimmy shakes his head vehemently, nicking one of Tim’s own beers. Tim cocks an eyebrow skeptically, “Okay maybe a little. But it still happened.”

Tim’s starting to have an idea of what went on. Drunken Shaun Marsh, who Tim had only that the pleasure of seeing once in his life, very well could have exclaimed that he’d never sleep with Tim. Jimmy had just created the confession of homosexuality in order to create drama. As if there wasn’t enough in his life already.

“I’m not wasting my valuable time or energy trying to sleep with Shaun Marsh,” Tim sighs, very much wanting to smother his friend with a pillow, if just to end this inane topic of conversation, “Since that _is_ what you’re trying to goad me into doing.

Tim had slept with more than one ‘straight’ guy in his lifetime, but Shaun Marsh had always struck him as a solid 0 on the Kinsey Scale; if you bought into that stuff.

“I thought you said you could get anyone to sleep with you though, regardless of what they claimed their sexuality was.” Jimmy’s grinning widely at him, like he thinks that he’s won something. All he’d managed to achieve was overplaying his hand and bringing his argument full circle.

“I never said that,” Tim’s pretty sure Jimmy is referring to the conversation they had years ago when Tim said no guy was as straight as he pretended to be. Or maybe he’s making up another conversation that clearly never happened. “And for the last time the guy is straight Jimmy.”

“He’s not straight and you’re chicken.”

“And you are clearly 12 years old and trying to distract me from another FIFA asswhooping.” Tim rolls himself into a sitting position making a decision not to indulge in this madness any longer.

Jimmy rolls his eyes and pouts but finally lets it go.

And if Tim spends the evening wondering about Shaun Marsh, well then no one is ever going to know.


	2. Chapter 2

Tim spends the next few days after his conversation with Jimmy thinking about Shaun Marsh. The more Tim thinks about it, the more he doubts that Shaun is 100% straight; doubts many people, if any, are one hundred percent straight.

Tim is still pretty sure that Shaun is straight enough he’s never going to sleep with a guy, and he is resolutely not going to rise to Jimmy’s bait because he’s better than James Faulkner. Nothing is going to come of it at all.

Except for the fact WA are still in Tasmania for a Ryobi cup game. And someone decided it would be a good idea for both teams to go out to the pub after the game.

Which is how Tim ends up walking into a crowd of cricketers in varying stages of drunkness with Jimmy by his side.

It’s also how he notices the first thing Jimmy does is seek out Shaun Marsh’s eyes and wink.

What Tim was not expecting at all was for Shaun to blush, and quickly turn away from Jimmy, striking up a discussion with his brother. 

Jimmy turns to Tim with a triumphant face, “See,” he cries, louder than is perhaps necessary even in a crowded pub, if the number of heads that turn in their direction are any indication. 

Tim raises an eyebrow, “See what?” 

“He blushed.” Jimmy is practically whispering now to compensate, “That means I was right.”

“It could also mean he’s embarrassed by you, an entirely _logical_ conclusion,” Jimmy is awfully single minded, no matter how hard Tim tries to teach him out of that habit,  “or that he’s drunk, which is a _forgone_ conclusion.”

“You’re just hiding your embarrassment at me being _right.”_ Tim needs to find George immediately, so that he can take his pesky boyfriend off Tim’s hands. 

“You’re not right,” Tim says with more conviction than he feels as he heads towards the bar; he’s not nearly drunk enough for this. 

“I am,” Jimmy insisted, trailing after him, “You’ll see.”

It takes Tim more than half an hour to find George so that he can ditch Jimmy. Fortunately it only takes 5 of those minutes and a drink or two for Jimmy to forget the topic of Shaun Marsh, much more interested in bragging to anyone who will listen about his man of the match performance. 

Tim, however, is not so lucky. As he chats with his team mates Shaun sits irritatingly in the back of his mind. Shaun sits at the back of his mind while he's flirting absently with the Warrior's new young wicketkeeper, Whiteman, observing with distant amusement how increasingly uncomfortable he gets. Shaun sits at the back of his mind when he takes his third drink above what he intended, well past tipsy. Shaun  _definitely_ sits at the back of his mind when he gets a hold of Mitch Marsh, catch up long overdue. 

Tim’s sitting opposite Mitch in a booth at the back of the room, trying to convince him to become the Hurricanes official mascot for the Big Bash season considering he can’t play, when Shaun ambles over to them. Tim thinks he’s moving even slower than usual, but that could just be his eyes.

“Did you have a good chat?” Mitch asks his brother cheekily, as Shaun tries to shove Mitch’s feet off his side of the bench. It’s not working, hand eye co-ordination even worse than usual, so Shaun eventually grunts and gives up, deciding instead to sit next to Tim. Right next to Tim, as if personal space is a thing he’s never heard of.

Which is odd because Shaun Marsh has one of the biggest personal space bubbles that Tim has ever come across. Maybe it wasn’t Shaun’s sexuality that Jimmy was wrong about.

Mitch rolls his eyes at Shaun, shaking his head, “How much have you had to drink bro?”

“Less than you probably _bro_.” Shaun shoots back with more bite than Tim expects, gesturing at the empty bottles littering the table. Surprising, but considering the brother’s recent media coverage of their drinking habits maybe not _that_ surprising.

“Most of these are our dear Timothy’s _actually._ ” 

“Huh,” Shaun turns towards him curiously. Tim’s fixed with a stare then, a very intense, earnest stare that makes him feel almost vulnerable. Which can’t be right, it must be the alcohol talking. Finally Shaun shrugs, “Okay then.”

Mitch rolls his eyes again. Tim’s not sure exactly what he finds so displeasing he has to do it so much. “You two have fun then, I need another drink.” He says stretching his arms above his head as he clumsily pulls himself out of the booth, “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

“I’m not planning on getting so drunk I get kicked off my team,” Tim tells him cheekily, “So I think we’ll be safe.”

Mitch flips him off over his shoulder as he walks away and Tim hides a smirk. Shaun’s not so good at hiding his own smirk though Tim notices, the corners of his mouth turning up and a half aborted laugh escaping his mouth.

A silence settles then. Shaun Marsh has never been one for talking and Tim, for once in his life, just doesn’t know what to say.

Finally, just when Tim is racking his brains for something, anything, to say Shaun fixes that stare back on Tim, licking his lips before saying. “It’s not his fault you know.”

Tim looks at Shaun searchingly, it’s a bit hard to get a read since Tim is not at his highest functioning level right now and Shaun is a bit dim at the best of times. “Whose was it then?” he settles for asking; baiting, “Yours?”

Shaun takes a drink from his beer, “Maybe,” he shrugs. Tim waits, but it doesn’t seem like he’s going to say anymore.

“Oh well aren’t you a bad boy.” Tim lowers his voice, leans forward. From everything he knows about Shaun Marsh he expects a blush or at least an embarrassed laugh. 

He gets neither. Shaun doesn’t even look at him. Just snorts into his beer.

“I’m not saying it is his fault,” Tim shrugs when it becomes clear Shaun isn’t going to bite. “Plus maybe it’s a blessing in disguise for him,”

Shaun actually looks up at that and turns into Tim, so their knees are brushing, and asks him in a way that’s both curious and wary, “Oh? Why?”

Tim tries not to smirk, now he’s getting somewhere, and says “He gets to be the official mascot for the Hurricanes, and we’re clearly the superior team.”

“Has that been your plan all along?” Shaun asks, managing to lean even closer without falling into Tim’s lap. He holds Tim’s gaze for a second or two before tearing it away to look at his hands.

Tim bites his lip; uses the couple of inches of height that Shaun has on him to look up at him through his eyelashes; lowers his voice, “Only if you’re a packaged deal.”

Just when Tim thinks he has him Shaun leans back again and raises an eyebrow at him. It’s frustrating Tim; Shaun might be playing hard to get or just doesn’t know he’s being flirted with. Tim’s sure it’s the second one.

“Well,” Shaun finally says before the silence kills the mood too much, “You could have had us, if you accepted that contract.”

Tim frowns, trying to work out what, if anything, Shaun means by that. Perhaps he means nothing. Perhaps Tim is so used to reading meaning in everything that even when there’s nothing there he looks.

Shaun Marsh hardly seems to have the capacity for double meanings and twisted words sober; let alone drunk.

“Well,” Tim finally decides to say casting his eyes down Shaun’s body suggestively, “There were certainly a number of incentives. But I decided in the end nothing was worth moving to the middle of nowhere.” 

“Oh?” Shaun asks playfully, leaning in again; taking hot and cold to a whole new level, “Coming from the guy living in _Tasmania_.”

“At least _we_ don’t have the most bogans per capita.” Tim shoots back straight away before remembering he’s talking to the number one bogan in the Big Bash. Luckily Shaun is too drunk, or too dumb, to realise Tim’s accidentally insulted him. 

Instead he blinks even longer than usual, somehow, and asks Tim “Do you have a problem with bogans?”

“Not at all,” Tim says, leaning so close their shoulders are practically pressed together. Shaun doesn’t pull away. It’s progress, “I hear they’re very good in bed.”

“Is that something you’ve given much thought to?” Shaun asks, rubbing at his lip absentmindedly with his thumb. Tim wonders if he even knows he’s doing it, broadcasting. Of course he doesn’t.

Clearly Shaun is not going to get it so Tim needs to take drastic measures. Besides, the opening is begging to be taken, “It’s something I’m interested in testing out.” 

Shaun looks at him in surprise, blinking more quickly than Tim thought was possible, “I..” he says taking a deep breath, “I…have to go find Mitch.” Tim’s not surprised that Shaun’s chickened out, not with the way he’s been pulling back all night.

“Alright then mate.” Tim leans back and smiles easily, it’s not like he can force Shaun to stay and he’ll get his chance soon enough; the Hurricanes have a match in Perth on New Years Day, “Nice talking to you.” He says running his eyes down Shaun’s body pointedly and he staggers to his feet.

Shaun looks both confused and flustered, because he just nods his head jerkily before turning away.

Tim watches with a smirk as Shaun stumbles off towards Mitch, slinging an arm around his brothers shoulders and leaning heavily against him. Smirks as Shaun looks back towards him, meets his eye and whips his head back around so fast Tim’s surprised he hasn’t given himself whiplash.

Mitch follows Shaun’s gaze and shoots Tim a questioning look. Tim waves back innocently.

Tim’s slightly frustrated, he’s man enough to admit that. He had Shaun. Had him, and then lost him because Shaun’s resolve is stronger than Tim thought; because Tim might have underestimated him. 

A lesser man might consider himself as unsuccessful and count his losses, but lesser man wouldn’t see what Tim does; that Shaun’s resolve is stronger than he thought but it’s just hanging by a thread.  

Tim’s more determined than ever; he will get Shaun Marsh to sleep with him.

And he won’t be telling Jimmy.

 

 

 

Tim’s not lying when he says that all thoughts of Shaun completely slip his mind for the next few weeks. He doesn't think of him at all, between the training for the Big Bash and a handful of one-night stands, his only contact with Jimmy is phone calls full of relentless mocking for being owned by Eddie McGuire. He doesn’t think of Shaun Marsh until they're back in Perth for the New Year's game and he's out on the field, squatted down in position behind the stumps. Squatted in position to get a very good view of Shaun Marsh's arse.

Despite the fact Shaun’s hit on the hand hard enough to fall the ground, Tim using the opportunity to brush a hand over his shoulder, just to put the thought in his head, it’s not a view that lasts for long. Shaun gets out for 6, and Tim resists the urge to look at his slow trudge off the field as his teammates begin to cluster around him. He’s done enough. Keep him waiting; keep him guessing.

The rest of the match is a triumphant blur as Tim bats the Hurricanes to an emphatic victory. There is a whirlwind of celebration out on the wicket, a hug with Bails, a pat on the back from Ricky as the Perth crowds pours from the stadium, silent for the first time tonight.

He doesn’t pay much attention to Shaun, except for the brief moment when Shaun reaches out his hand in congratulations. Their eyes meet briefly, for less than a second, though it’s long enough for a heavy gaze from Shaun, piercing, inviting and intense all at once. Tim blinks in surprise and then it’s gone.

It can’t have ever been there at all. Tim must have imagined it.

They go to some local pub afterwards, both teams, for a gathering that’s both a celebration and a belated New Years party. It’s a bit wilder than most post-match celebrations but neither team has a game for a few days, and JL and Damian have given them their conditional blessing, so Tim is already two shots and a beer in when he spots Shaun. He’s leaning against the bar, Mitch at his side as usual, as Tim ambles up to them, forcing his way between them and slinging an arm over both their shoulders. It’s a good thing they’re both slouching.

"My round," he says to both of them, eyeing the empty drinks on the bar between them. He catches the bartenders eye and says, louder  "They'll have another. Put it on my tab, I owe it to them after that thrashing."

He turns around then, back against the bar, with a wink and a grin. Mitch looks less than pleased to see Tim, not grinning for perhaps the first time in the life. Tim puts it down to being a sore loser and says cheerfully, “Good game, boys.”

Shaun grunts response, but still looks a little more amused than his brother, leaning forward to grab the beer the bartender slides towards them. 

Mitch does not, announcing “I’m going to chuck a leak.” As he hops off his stool suddenly and wonders off.

Tim stares after his retreating form. “Is he still sulking?” He asks Shaun. Mitch didn’t even play in the game so Tim doesn’t know why he’s so upset.

"You know Mitch," Shaun says, mouth quirking slightly. “He’s very competitive."

"It's alright," Tim says, leaning closer to Shaun and winking at him. "More time for just the two of us."

Unsurprisingly Shaun hasn’t progressed much from the last time they met like this, slightly tipsy in a bar after Tim’s team had annihilated his.  He's picking the label off his beer bottle with his fingers, clearly a nervous tick or a way to distract himself from Tim. He’s also avoiding Tim’s eye. Which means, at least, that Tim is making progress.

"How much have you had to drink," Shaun mumbles in reply, just when Tim thinks he isn't going to get a reply at all.

 "Only three drinks," Tim says, then turns and calls the bartender towards them. He orders two shots, turning to Shaun with a wink, "Keep up."

 

 

 

Using alcohol to loosen someone up is not one of Tim’s best laid plans, but he’s on the road to being hammered himself so he’ll give himself a pass. Besides, it seems to be working to get Shaun to open his mouth, something that interests Tim in more ways than one.

They’re standing near the back of the bar, away from their drunk and delirious team mates as Shaun tells some halting story about training with JL, at least Tim thinks that’s what he’s talking about; that’s what Tim is teasing him about at least. Tim’s pretty sure it’s neither the alcohol nor reading to far into the situation to say Shaun is flirting with him. Or trying to flirt with him, as clumsy as the attempt may be.

"No, no, stop recaping my wicket, you're not nice," Shaun says, half laughing, his hand loosely grabbing Tim’s shirt before letting go and shaking his head. 

"It was just the most hilarious thing, cutting it onto your own stumps?” Tim says relentlessly with a smirk, stepping ever so slightly into Shaun’s space, “What were you thinking Shaun? _Were_ you thinking?"

"You're mean," mumbles Shaun. Tim can't quite tell if he's serious or not.

“I am,” he says, reaching up to pat Shaun’s cheek, which makes him look up and meet Tim's eyes for a split second again. Tim blinks, and then shifts closer to him. If he isn't mistaken, Shaun Marsh is honest to god pouting at him.

"Come here," Tim says, tugging him closer by the shirt. "Let me make it up to you." 

Shaun's eyes widen slightly in panic, but then the panic seems dulled by the alcohol, and probably the six week build up. He's looking around though, probably to see if anyone’s noticed them, and Tim follows his gaze.

"Nobody's watching,” he says, rolling his eyes. "They've gone home or are to drunk to care.” He tugs Shaun shirt, again. Closer.

"What?" Shaun says, looking back at Tim in confusion. "I didn't--" His hand is somehow resting on Tim's arm now, and he squeezes it, briefly, lingering.

Tim sighs. "Don't make me spell it out to you, Shaun Marsh," he says. When Shaun opens his mouth to reply, Tim tugs him closer and presses their lips together, before he can protest.

 

 

 

 “That was- that was- ” 

“That was what?” Shaun mumbles, staring resolutely up at the ceiling: entirely expected Shaun Marsh behaviour. In fact Tim isn’t sure how to reconcile these two versions of Shaun in his head, because the man who’d left him gasping for air and twisting in bed two seconds ago was currently, predictably, looking confused and awkward again, refusing to meet his eye. 

“Don’t look so worried,” Tim can’t help laughing at the ridiculousness “It was good.”

Shaun turns his head towards him, finally able to meet his eyes, and Tim’s half expecting him to be blushing. He’s not. In fact he’s looking vaguely put out.  

Tim wants to roll his eyes a little, but he doesn’t because he’s way too drunk to get back to the team hotel right now, and doesn’t want to insult his way out of a bed for the night. He leans across to kiss Shaun, instead.  

When he pulls away Shaun is still looking at him, which isn’t that weird in _itself_ but there’s something about the way he’s being looked at that feels like he’s being…measured. Obviously he’s still just a bit drunker than he thought. He can’t help but ask Shaun “What?” though. 

Shaun pauses before he speaks. “You think you’re better than me, don’t you?” he asks, side of his mouth lifting in a little smirk.

Tim is taken aback and stares at Shaun for a few seconds unsure how to respond. He’s pretty sure that Shaun’s joking, but there’s an underlying current of  _honesty_  there as well.

It takes him a couple of seconds to think of a response, longer than usual, before he’s forcing his mouth into a smirk to match Shaun’s. “Only at cricket,” 

Tim doesn’t think he’s better than Shaun Marsh. Smarter maybe, but not better. He buys himself a few more seconds by reaching out cup Shaun’s neck and pulls him into a kiss again.

“Though I suppose you’re alright in bed.” He says once they separate. 

It’s Shaun’s turn to laugh this time, levering himself into a seated position and leaning over to give Tim an all to quick peck. “Should I get the lights then?” is all he replies, already climbing out of bed. 

Tim admires the view for the second time tonight, without the stumps to impede his view this time. Shaun shuffles off towards the light switch.

Once the light clicks off though and the room is thrown into almost total darkness, Tim takes a while to fall asleep, something about tonight throwing him off a fraction—though he can’t quite identify what. He stares at the dark ceiling, wondering about the contradictions of Shaun Marsh.

Shaun grunts as he shifts to his side. Tim closes his eyes, and falls asleep wondering.


End file.
